Kirill didn’t bother lying down again. There was no point. Rasputin had said three spirits, that meant there was one ghost to go, and Kirill was ready to get it over with. He burned to hear what this final ghost had to say, was ready to retreat into his strategy room and think over all the information he’d been given. Surely he wasn’t the first to receive these visits? There must be records of others somewhere. He would take what he’d learned, what the ghosts had shown him, and he would find a way to use the information to his advantage.

“Kirill, I can see the wheels in your head spinning.”

It was Saamal’s voice, but this time there were no glowing eyes for Kirill to see. Oddly enough, the only thing that gave away the ghost’s position was the…shadow in the darkness. Not a real shadow, but a part of the darkness even more devoid of light, a man-shaped void that swallowed the very air around it. Kirill squinted, trying to focus his night vision, but only the shadow remained.

“Your power is impressive,” Kirill commented lightly, ruthlessly cutting the unease from his voice. He had not spent much time with the god since he’d regained the full scope of his power. Saamal was not his enemy, but Kirill didn’t trust anyone with that much power.

Saamal shifted on the bed. “My apologies if my presence is unsettling. Know that neither I nor the ghost mean you any harm.”

Every muscle in Kirill’s body tensed in unison, rendering him little more than a statue for the span of several heartbeats. When he finally regained his voice, it was a low, rasping sound, heavily weighted with a deep sense of foreboding. “You and the ghost are not one.”

Saamal shook his head slowly, a movement of shadows barely perceptible even to Kirill’s senses.

“You have been…possessed?”

“I am a god, Kirill. Even the spirits of the winter solstice cannot completely take me over. Not as they were able to claim Etienne and Patricio.”

Fresh tension poured over Kirill, filling his mind with images of his comrades being used as puppets, taken over against their will. “Are they all right?”

When Saamal spoke again, there was a hint of surprise in his voice. “I am pleased you thought to ask that question, and with what sounds like genuine concern and not merely calculating interest. There was a time not so long ago you would not have bothered, would have seen their absence as a chance for you to gain more power yourself.” Saamal shifted again on the bed, leaning forward slightly. “You have come a long way, Kirill.”

“If I have come so far, then perhaps here is where I should stop.” Kirill heard the note of desperation in his voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Sitting here, this close to a god of death and prophecy with the Ghost of Koliada Future hovering somewhere inside him, had every nerve in Kirill’s body screaming in alarm, writhing in an invisible wind. He was suddenly absolutely certain that he did not want to see the future this ghost would show him.

“To answer your question, Etienne and Patricio are fine. They will not remember their participation in your…awakening. As for your suggestion that perhaps you have learned enough for one day…I’m afraid it cannot stop here. The ghost is quite insistent that you see the future you are carving for yourself.”

The god sighed and the sound sent a shiver down Kirill’s spine.

“I’m sorry you have to see this, Kirill, but it is for your own good. Turn around.”

Kirill didn’t want to turn around. More than anything else in the world, he did not want to see what was waiting for him, what was giving him that horrible spine-tingling sensation. He had one ridiculous moment where he wished he could see Saamal’s face, needing to glimpse something familiar.

“Have you any comfort to offer, Saamal?”

The god shifted on the bed again, the blankets tugging underneath Kirill. “Do you need comfort, Kirill?”

Kirill’s mouth went dry, but he shook his head. “No.”

“You will.”

With those ominous words hanging in the air, the room shifted. There was no mistaking the sounds of war. The blood in the air, the shouts of passionate courage mixing with shrieks of horror and pain. Weapons buried with wet thuds into flesh and clanged loudly against other weapons. The energy crackled around him, biting him and stinging his flesh. For a moment he thought the ghost had gotten it wrong, that he was showing Kirill the past. Because what he was hearing sounded an awful lot like the night he’d died. The night of the coup…

Kirill blinked as the scene around him changed, but only slightly. He was still in his bedroom in the castle. Instead of sitting in his bed, he was standing beside his dresser. The room was bathed in sunlight—someone had opened the curtains. Kirill tensed at the sight of the golden light touching his skin, instinct screaming at him to dive for cover, to find some dark room to hide in until sunset. But there was no burning, no pain. The sunlight was not real.

A figure moved closer to the bed, the bed curtains still drawn tight against the sunlight. Tearing his attention away from his own sun-dappled skin, Kirill tensed as he recognized the creature. He looked human, but the stocky build, square-shaped head, and yellowish skin marked him as half-troll. He crept across the floor, meaty hand outstretched.

“He’s going to pull the curtain aside and let the sunlight in.” Every muscle in Kirill’s body tensed in shock as he realized that his future self must be sleeping in that bed. “I’ll burn.” He frowned, shook his head. “But that’s not possible. I have a contract with the trolls. He cannot attack me.”

“Your contract with the trolls was attained through blackmail of a sort, wasn’t it?” Saamal mused. “You forced them into it.”

Kirill stiffened. “King Risi signed the contract. The circumstances are irrelevant, he is bound by its terms.”

“You are very skilled with contract language, Kirill,” Saamal agreed. “That’s probably why it took him so long to figure out how to get around the terms.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was something in the contract assuring the trolls that you wouldn’t block them from gaining new territory as long as that territory did not threaten another of your political alliances.”

“So?”

“That half-troll you see before you attempted to purchase land from one of the nobles of Dacia. He offered a handsome sum and the noble was inclined to accept his offer. You blocked the sale. I believe you had some information that you were using to manipulate the noble who currently owned the house. If he’d sold his land, he would have had less influence, and would have been less useful as your pawn. You didn’t realize the prospective buyer had troll in his lineage.”

Kirill’s blood ran cold. “King Risi used that to break our contract.”

“Yes. Then he stirred the peasants, urging them to stage another coup. He gathered other members from beyond the veil, those you were in the process of…convincing to sign your contracts. They joined with the peasants and gave the people what they needed to gather their courage.”

The troll inched closer to the bed. His footsteps were silent on the thick carpet, his eyes locked on the bed before him.

“King Risi loves Irina.” The protest was scratchy in Kirill’s throat, rasping from his lips like a desperate plea. “He would never do this to her.”

“King Risi does love Irina, which is a large part of the reason he wants you eliminated. This is the future, Kirill. Over the years, Irina has changed, and not for the better. There are many who blame you.”

“No!” a feminine voice cried out.

As if responding to Saamal’s words, Irina rushed into the room. Kirill’s eyes widened and he started forward, a sharp ache threatening to crack open his chest. The shine was gone from Irina’s brown eyes, the light vanished from her face. The laugh lines at the corners of her eyes slanted down, marks of weariness instead of joy. Her shoulders sagged as though she carried a heavy weight. The velvet of her dress was solid black, a look of mourning that seemed to draw even more attention to her too-thin form.

The troll froze, fingertips brushing the curtain that was all that remained to protect Kirill’s body from the sunlight. “Irina,” he rasped. “You should not be here. Go.”

“I won’t let you hurt him.” Irina held out a hand, pleading. “Please leave.”

“The king is outraged at what he’s done to you,” the troll said, his face pinched with regret. “You don’t come to visit us anymore. You hardly visit anyone.”

Irina bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“Busy helping the vampire. Helping him trap more people with his contracts.”

Irina winced. “He only wants to protect his people. He will be a good king.”

“He will never be king. He will die for good this day, and you will be free.” The troll pressed his lips into a thin line. “You weren’t even at the dwarf’s funeral. What was his name? Ivan.”

The dwarf died then. Kirill stared at his wife, suddenly wishing with every fiber of his being that he was corporeal here, that he could take her in his arms and give her the comfort she needed.

Irina’s eyes shone with unshed tears and she pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment. Her body bowed as if she were fighting not to collapse. “I didn’t know. No one told me.”

“You hadn’t seen him in years,” the troll accused. “They took you in when you needed them, but he made you stay away.” He flung a hand toward the bed where Kirill lay in the protective cocoon of the curtains.

“He never forced me to stay away! I was just so busy…”

“You stopped visiting because he wouldn’t come with you. You cared more about being near him than being near anyone else, and since he didn’t want to visit mere dwarves with no political clout to offer, you stayed away too.”

“He needs me,” Irina whispered. “He’s so lonely. He needs time—”

“He is out of time.” The troll grabbed the curtain. Irina screamed and dove to stop him, drawing a dagger from the belt of her dress. The troll’s eyes bulged.

Everything happened so quickly. There was a struggle as the troll writhed to avoid her blade, bent the dagger’s point the other way. A wet choke escaped Irina as her body jerked, impaled on her own blade. Kirill didn’t have time to shout as he threw himself forward. His arms passed right through his wife as he tried to catch her, tried to keep her body from hitting the floor. The troll squeaked in horror, staring down at the dagger buried in Irina’s side.

“Irina! No! I didn’t mean…” He swiveled its head, staring at the curtains. Tears welled in his eyes, but he stepped away from her and grasped the thick material surrounding the bed.

Sunlight fell over the figure lying perfectly still on top of the furs. Kirill knelt on the floor, unable to tear his eyes from Irina’s deathly pale face long enough to see his body catch fire, start to burn.

The acrid scent of burning flesh filled the room, but he ignored it. He sat there on the floor as black smoke poured from his immolated corpse. His heart withered, crushed to bloody pulp in his chest as the life fled from Irina’s eyes, leaving her pale and limp on their bedroom floor.

“Where is your power now, Kirill?” Saamal gestured around them. “Where are your allies, your contracts? What good has all your planning done you?”

“My spies should have told me what King Risi was up to.” Kirill’s voice was as dull and lifeless as the pile of ashes on his bed. “I should have known.”

“You cannot plan for everything, vampire. You cannot force people to help you, to be your ally. Irina tried for years to get you to be more personable, to build true friendships, to develop real roots among your people. She would have helped you, but you were so sure you knew a better way. Better to have a signature than a handshake, you always said.”

“Why do you delight in torturing me?” The first warmth of anger rose to chase away the chill. Kirill slid his gaze over his shoulder to glare at Saamal. “What do you want from me?”

“This has never been about what I want, Kirill, and you know that.”

Tears burned Kirill’s eyes, showing his weakness to both the god and the ghost before him. “These events can be changed. This nightmare does not have to come to be.”

Saamal tilted his head. “The future is ever-changing, that is true. But do you possess the will to change it? The humility to do what must be done to change it? The future cannot be forced to sign a contract, Kirill, it cannot be blackmailed or—”

“I would do anything for her,” Kirill snapped, his tears thickening his voice.

Saamal stepped closer, something alien shifting behind his bottomless black eyes. “Prove it.”

“I would be anything for her.” His vision grew hazy and he had to blink the tears away, let them loose to roll down his cheeks so he could see.

“Prove it.”

Kirill lowered his face to Irina’s, tried to kiss her even though he couldn’t touch her. The pain in his chest was unbearable, the breaking of a dead heart. A thousand moments rushed through his mind, full of things he’d wanted to say to her, time he’d wanted to spend with her. Wasted opportunities. “I love her,” he whispered, curling over her lifeless form.

Saamal knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Prove it,” he said softly.